Infamy: A Zombie Novel (2 page)

No matter how much I
cut down Rob, it’s too late to do anything about it. I’ve already sucked down half my beer. Within moments the room, voices, faces, even my memory becomes fuzzy, followed by random blackouts. I can’t even remember who Rob is. He melts into the crowd. I don’t know how, but suddenly I’m on a balcony outside one of the rooms.

“So you make websites?” the Asian
girl asks.

I recall staring at her ass, her grinding against a skinny redhead with blue earrings.
How did I come to talking to her? “Umm yea,” I say. “Have we met before?”

“Before what?”

“Before this moment?”

“Like, earlier tonight? Before today? In a past life?”

“Fuck it,” I say. “You’re hot.” I grab a handful of her straight black hair and our lips mash together. Now we’re on a couch (have no idea how I got here). I’m rubbing everywhere under her shirt. I want to say I’m coming to my senses (though not all the way by a longshot). I can actually feel my lips instead of hearing kissing sounds amplified and distorted into one-hundred-and-twenty-decibel whale screams. Also, because I notice Rob, and remember who he is, and frown at the fact that he just hooked up with the oldest-looking dinosaur in the place. She has a blonde wig, long face and droopy black eyelids.

He drags her in our direction and almost falls over the couch.
“Isn’t this awesome, bro?” he says. “If only Kathy could see you now.”

The Asian girl pulls away from me. Damn if she doesn’t have some beautiful eyes.
“Who’s Kathy?” she says.

Shit, here comes the blur again.   

“Shots, shots, shots!” some dudes start chanting as my vision continues to come back in to focus. My hot, brown-eyed girl has been replaced with a small glass filled with a dark, brownish liquid. Tossing the shot into the back of my throat causes a burning sensation that wakes me further. I slam the empty glass on the table. Cheers ring all around. Elbows and shoulders slam into each other as I push my way through the crowd into an empty room.

Taking a seat on a bed, I
stare at UNN News images, trying to collect my thoughts, though the drug still has a hold of me. What is it with this shit? Feels like I want to go kick some ass and eat a raw burger. Doesn’t even have to be made out of cow.

The ticker on the news story reads
,
Will America Be Pulled Into Border War?
and shows live footage of the international border crossing into Tijuana. Gunshots are mixed with fireballs from smashed Molotov cocktails. Streets are lit like a Middle Eastern street war. What the fuck? I wonder if I can see that shit from the balcony but don’t get up. I can’t stop looking at the television. An El Camino with high-powered, heavy machine gun strapped to it is blowing holes through buildings in TJ. People abandon their cars, run for their lives, while large trucks smash them down. In the middle of all the carnage, a photo shows up of some drug lord. He’s in his mid-forties, has dark grey hair and beard. I barely start to read his first name, Caesar, when I get sick.

I’m
nauseated. Hits my stomach like a sucker punch from Rob. I want to go puke in the restroom, but that’s a fail because a fight has broken out. Two of the biggest, well-dressed guys from the wedding party begin to scrap. Fists fly. The backs of spectators slam into me, keeping me from puking in the toilet.

“Move.
I think I’m going to be sick,” I say to some dude.

He replies by punching me in the face.

The room goes black.

Chapter 2

Outbreak

I’m aware of the ache in my head as soon as my eyes open. Has my skull been pounding for long? I’ll never know though I assume my brain has been rattling around all night from the Infamy and alcohol. I’m on a carpet. The volume to the stereo in another room is still at max. My fingertips run across a slimy, gel-like substance surrounding the half of my face against the floor. I’ve been sleeping in puke, haven’t I? What’s worse is the burning smell of stomach acid and alcohol. That hits me hard, making me puke again. Great, now my stomach has become a vindictive bitch and is throwing all my shit out on the lawn. I mean, it’s really waging war on me. Before I can get to my feet I start heaving again. There’s nothing left in me but bitterness. Feels like my body is trying to puke up my nuts. Forget it. I lay down and start humming the theme music to
Zombageddon
.

I fall back to sleep for a while then wake and repeat the entire puking and humming scene. When I wake for the third time my stomach finally stops having its temper tantrum. I
pull myself off the sticky carpet.

Stumbling
to the restroom my foot catches an empty keg, sending me to the floor right in front of the toilet. I get to my knees and hover over the bowl. Instinctively, my stomach seems to find more shit to discard. While I’m shooting shit out my nose my cell phone begins to vibrate.

Pulling the phone from my pocket isn’t an easy task at th
e moment, but somehow I manage without dropping it into the puke stew I’ve created. The number isn’t one saved in my phone so I debate answering. What if it’s Kathy? I don’t want to talk to her any more than I want to talk to my creditors. She probably wants my TV or something. Maybe the Asian chick from earlier has forgiven herself for hating on me the way girls know how to do so well after a good face sucking.

M
y hand wipes vomit-filled snot from under my nose. I really am considering answering the phone when a crash echoes in the restroom and in my head simultaneously. Something slammed against the other side of the hallway behind me. The sound jolts me to the point of shaking. Hey, at least I have some adrenalin left. The sad part is I shake so bad my smartphone
ker-plops
into the puke-shit.

Did
the Asian chick just say, “Hello?”

It was her.

Goddam it.

I try to think fast
without my aching head exploding (the insane logic comes to mind that if I flush the puke-shit, my cell will stay in one place). I nod to myself and grab the handle. The toilet flushes but my phone is gone—stuck in some foul pipe. Fuck.

Time to wash my face. W
arm water seems to help clear my mind and ease the pounding. Lucky for me I find a clean towel.

When I walk into the main party room
I notice everyone is gone though it’s still dark outside. Not only that, the place is torn apart from floor to ceiling. Everything is upended: couch, chairs, tables. The TV screen hangs upside-down by its cord. The stereo has been kicked over. It’s still loud as fuck playing some shitty rave music from a dying iPod. Instead of turning off the music I just leave the room.

The hallway is
vacant of light and people. Red light flickers in rhythm with the buzzing of the hotel fire alarm. Oh, that’s what that screeching is over the music. Thought it was in my head. The idea of a fire might scare me if not for the idea that someone from the party probably pulled the alarm as a prank.

             
Near the elevators is a partly closed door. Music inside is just as bad as the other room. Rob’s legs and khaki shorts come into view. He’s being straddled by that nasty old blondie who has changed into a skimpy purple dress. She has it partly lifted, exposing her black silk thong. Her blonde wig (I just keep assuming her hair isn’t real) has come untangled and covers both her face and Rob’s as she rides him.

             
“Yo, Rob,” I say. “We should probably get out of here. Everyone’s gone and the fire alarm is going off. Cops will be here soon.”

             
Rob doesn’t answer.

             
The woman doesn’t even look at me.

             
I ignore her grunting and instead focus on the wide-open balcony door. “Shit, man. Fine. Keep on with your party mojo. I’m closing the door. It’s fucking freezing in here.”

             
Cold ocean air seems to be forming ice crystals in the room. I growl and stomp toward the balcony. This sure is fucked up. I’ve been puking all morning. Have I somehow scared away the party? Rob continues to make monkey sounds as some granny humps him. I don’t know who’s luckier.

             
I start to pull the sliding door closed when I stop to look out at the city. Every light seems lit and sparkly. A glass tower reflects a full moon. A sort of peace and relaxation comes over my neck and shoulders as I take a deep breath.

             
God this city is beautiful.

             
I’m actually pretty happy at the moment. Kathy can go fuck herself. An Asian chick digs me. Rob is a great friend even if he is getting rocked by the man-thing.

Everything
just seems alright.

Until
some chick falls screaming past the balcony.

Her
shriek causes me to almost knock my hand through the sliding glass door. I pull it open, rush out, hang my head over the balcony to where she slams headfirst into concrete.

“Oh shit
, Rob,” I say looking into the room. “Some chick just jumped. My phone’s dead and gone. We have to call the cops.”

Rob
ain’t moving. He just takes it from
The Thing
.

“Dude. Rob. Someone just died, man.”

He’s got to be higher than a kite.

And that’s when I hear it—all the chaos in the city.
I’m coming to my senses fast.

I clutch
the railing and duck as a clap of gunfire rattles red through the black sky. Somewhere I hear skidding, crunching noises. Cars smash into each other. I step back, glance at Rob. He doesn’t care. He’s loaded as hell.

So this is Infamy? The memory loss. The pounding head. Was I a nutcase the night before, ripping at walls? I squeeze my fists, feel my sore fingers.
Even my fingernails hurt. Was I punching people all night? Tearing down every last picture frame? Smashing tables? I didn’t kill anyone, did I?

All these city lights are a blur of me waking from this nightmare drug.
My head is spinning and I want to dry heave. Forget that shit. I force myself to look over the railing again. This time I really see it. Fires burn across downtown, from hotel windows, street corner trashcans, cars, businesses. Screams come from everywhere. Cop cars. Fire trucks. It’s all a shit-storm. Now my sense of smell is coming back. Smoke. Dirt. Fire. Hell. Shit. It’s awful. And here I am, trapped in the middle of this city set in full-motion, self-destruction.

People shoot
and tackle each other in the street. A cop shoots a cop. A firefighter slams an ax into the back of some dude. This mob is more than rioting. They’re destroying each other in the worst way. Looters run into stores and come outside just as some cop accelerates his patrol vehicle into them in an explosion of guts and misery. A far-off building turns into a pillar of fire.

It t
akes everything in me to rip away from the horror and go back in the room.

“Rob. Something is wrong. Are you hearing me? Something is really wrong!”

My yelling only grabs the attention of the old chick, who slowly slides off him.

Rob i
s motionless, too drunk and high to move.

She
staggers toward me with her dress up past her hips.

“Pull that sh
it down,” I say. “Get ahold of yourself.” Even in my freaked-out condition I can see how completely messed up she looks. The noise her feet make dragging against the carpet is almost as annoying as finding an old booger under a chair with my finger (not that I’m always looking).

Her
greasy wig covers her face. She walks weird, scooting along as if holding her head up is too much work.

She
grabs my shirt, pulls herself close to my chest.

“
Aaahhh,” she moans then jerks her head away and pukes all over the floor. Speckles of vomit hit my shoes and pants as her grip tightens on my shirt.

She stinks worse than anything.

“I hope I didn't get any on you,” she says.

“Get off me
,” I say. “You smell like fucking hell.”

             
She gives me a pat on the chest and grabs my junk as if to say,
You’re next
, before stumbling out to the balcony to puke some more.

Suddenly
Rob rises out of the bed, giving off a good stretch and popping his neck.

“What the hell?” I say. “I thought you were dead
for a minute there. We got some shit to take care of.”

“Thanks a lot
, bro,” he says, watching the woman on the balcony as she leans over the railing and heaves. “That whore would have blown chunks on my junk had you not got her off me. What did I miss?”

 
               “Some woman just jumped off the building and I think we’re being invaded by Mexico.”

Rob is out of bed now heading to the
sliding glass door. “I gotta see this shit,” he says.

He
jumps back before he’s on the balcony when the body of a man crashes onto old blondie’s head. The force of the collision sends her tumbling over the side.

“Holy fuck!” Rob blurts
.

The man and old
blondie fall several stories into a pool of blood and puke.

“Now the body count is three,
” I say. “This is insane.”

Rob looks over the side, not even caring if any more bodies are going to come flying past.
“Why are they jumping?”

I look up
but can’t see anything in the dark above us. “Dude, somebody’s gonna smash into us.”

“What are the chances?” Rob says. “Just look at this shit. Are those really Mexicans attacking?”

As we gaze at the shock and awe of everything, something happens I never thought I’d see outside of videogames and movies.

At first it starts
with the twitching right arm from the first lady to fall.

“Dude, she’s alive,” I say. “I can see her moving.”

“What?” Rob says. “No she ain’t.”

The woman
places her palm on the ground and tries to push her body up, putting weight on an already broken arm. There’s a snap. Pushing up has caused bone to tear though the flesh of her elbow. She falls again.

“Okay, yeah. That’s jacked up,” Rob says.

“La
dy, try not to move we’re going to call for help,” I yell.

“
Who you going to call? There’s about fifty dead cops on the street. She can’t hear you.”

“I’m just trying to help.”

“She’s still moving towards that guy who fell. Maybe he’s her husband and jumped after her.”

“Now you’re making shit up,” I say.

“Wait, what she doing? Is she biting his neck?”

 
              “What the hell? Stop biting that dude!”

Other people
begin gorging on each other. It’s like we showed up to the cannibal feast. Main course: arms and legs; intestines and brains are some kind of sick dessert.

“
Zomba-fucking-geddon,” Rob says.

What could be causing all of this? I don’t say anything. Too many lumps in my throat all of a sudden.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Rob says.

We run into the hall.
Rob slaps his hand against the elevator button. Nothing. He slaps the button until his palm turns red.

“Dumbass,” I say. “Quit hurting yourself. We have to find the staircase.”

“It’s down the other side of the hall.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

“I admit I’m a little scared,” he says. “That chick was pulling some undead shit out there. She was dead, right? Tell me that’s what I saw—the dead were eating people.”

“
Let’s not get bit, just to be safe,” I say.

I’m surprised
we’re not having seizures and foaming at the mouth from all the flashing lights and constant buzzing just outside the stairwell. Fucking fire alarm. Who pulled it anyway? I glance at the comical sign on the door: a stick man being chased by a campfire. Stupid.

We step inside and instantly feel claustrophobic from the lights and noise.

“D
id you hear that?” Rob says.

“I hear sirens and see flashy lights.”

“No. It’s footsteps.”

I put
my hand up to stop Rob so we both can listen. “So you get me to talk to attract attention?”